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    Canceled: The Story of America's Least Wanted
    Canceled: The Story of America's Least Wanted
    Canceled: The Story of America's Least Wanted
    Ebook339 pages4 hours

    Canceled: The Story of America's Least Wanted

    By Michael D. Britton

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    About this ebook

    What will reality TV do next? Kaylie Adams is about to find out, as she joins FBC's new hit reality TV show: Canceled. A sort of "Abortion Idol," the American viewing audience votes weekly: keep the baby, or terminate. When FBC studio executive Jake Granville learns he's the father, TV's hottest new show suddenly gets very personal. But a contract is a contract. In a nation obsessed with turning the deeply private into a public freak show, opportunistic network executives push Kaylie and Jake – and America's nerve – to the limit.

    Canceled: The Story of America's Least Wanted pillories reality TV the way Thank You for Smoking parodies the tobacco debate and takes people-watching to a level beyond The Truman Show. You may hate it, you may love it, but you will definitely remember it.

    America may choose the fate of Kaylie's unborn baby, but only you can decide if you have the audacity to read this groundbreaking novel.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherIntelligentLifeBooks
    Release dateMar 29, 2011
    ISBN9781458019721
    Canceled: The Story of America's Least Wanted
    Author

    Michael D. Britton

    Michael D. Britton has been writing professionally for 25 years, including heading up marketing departments, working in huge private corporations, writing for government entities, supporting non-profit healthcare systems, sprinting with tiny tech start-ups, freelancing, and a producing TV news broadcasts in the 90s. His short fiction has received ten honorable mentions in the Writers of the Future contest, among other recognition; and his novels have advanced through multiple rounds of the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award in various years. His list of indie-published fiction titles exceeds 65 and keeps increasing. Learn more at www.michaeldbritton.com.

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      Book preview

      Canceled - Michael D. Britton

      PROLOGUE

      Studio executive Dave Kohler leaned back in the black leather high-back and swiveled toward the tall plate glass windows overlooking downtown Los Angeles. He ran his fingers through his short salt-and-pepper hair and sighed.

      All the focus group data showed it was going to be a huge hit, Tom, but it’s just not going to fly. I’m sorry.

      Remind me of the problem, said Tom Highgate, President and CEO of FBC, the Federal Broadcasting Corporation.

      Tom, a stocky man in his early sixties with a shock of white hair and a barrel chest that filled his classic navy blue three-piece suit, stared longingly at the unlit cigar between his fingers. His chair sat at the head of the small glass-topped conference table in his office. He too, turned to the window and gazed out at the shimmering late summer heat rising from the roofs of buildings below.

      Well unfortunately, Dave said, "we gave ourselves just enough rope to hang ourselves with this one. ACLU has fought tooth and nail against Death Row: Mercy or Justice ever since the pitch was leaked. They say it’s illegal, and unconstitutional, and all that other bleeding heart crap. They’ve tied it up in the courts, and there’s no end in sight, now that they’ve got an injunction ordered. It could be on hold indefinitely. We need to move with something for the fall season, and we can’t pin our hopes on a judge ruling in our favor at this point."

      But the idea is perfect, said Tom, boasting of his own creation. Each season, sixteen death row inmates are selected from a pool of applicants, we follow them around each week – a real chance for America to see what life is like on the inside – and then each week one is voted off the show, off death row, and back to the general prison population. For the season finale, the last man standing gets an up or down vote – a commutation of sentence and conditional release under electronic monitoring – mercy – or immediate execution on live television – justice. We’d have got a thirty-five share with something like that.

      Dave shook his head slowly. Yes, yes we would have. But it’s not going to happen – at least not for the 2031 season. So, we need an alternative. Something just as explosive, but impervious to lawyers.

      Tom could see the gleam in Dave’s eye. I’m listening.

      I’d like to bring in Jake Granville to pitch it to you.

      I suppose you have Granville waiting outside.

      Matter of fact, yes. I know Jake rubs you the wrong way – and I don’t even know why – but he’s a great VP of New Network Programming with one hell of a track record for high-return ideation. Just give him a listen. Five minutes.

      Tom raised his eyebrows and sighed heavily. Bring him in. Five minutes.

      Tom got up and poked his head out the large double doors of rich dark wood and in came Jake Granville. He was only about thirty-five, with a strong jaw line and slick black hair combed straight back in long shiny lines and brushing the top of his collar. He wore a high-dollar deep green suit with a glossy sheen, and onyx cufflinks on his cream colored shirt. A classic striped-pattern tie in gold and teal finished the ensemble.

      Jake smiled a big, white-toothed grin as he stepped in carrying a slim valise. Thanks, Dave. Good to see you Mr. Highgate.

      Dave and Jake sat down opposite Tom, who sat back in his chair across the desk, seeming uninterested.

      Okay, said Jake, here’s what we have. A young woman. Beautiful, of course. Between twenty-four and twenty-eight. Single. She’s pregnant. Just found out – in fact, we capture that on video – the discovery, that is – not the conception.

      Jake chuckled, but Tom remained stoic.

      Anyway, Jake went on, we’ll need to, of course, start with a pool of girls who suspect they’re pregnant, film all of them taking the test, so on and so forth. We select the one we want – one who is pregnant and unsure how to proceed – and then she is the star of our show. For the duration of the extended season – thirty two weeks – we follow her around and experience her life as a young, troubled pregnant woman.

      And the point? Tom interrupted, impatient for the payoff.

      Every week, Americans call in and vote: should she keep the baby, or terminate the pregnancy? A simple up or down vote. Carry to term, or go see Doctor Ian. The season finale will result in either a live abortion or a live birth. And either way, the woman walks away with a big chunk of cash.

      Jake stared at Tom. Tom stared back.

      A standoff.

      Tom mulled it over in silence for the length of a prime time commercial break.

      Abortion Idol, Tom finally said.

      Then his face changed.

      He lit up and grinned.

      "I love it. It’s truly sick, disgusting, repulsive and revolting. It’s absolutely horrible. And it will tear this nation apart at the seams – disrupt the very fabric of our culture – well, if we’re lucky. And damned if it won’t make us billions. He looked at Jake like he’d swallowed a bitter pill that would make him crap gold bars. Granville, you are a freaking genius."

      Jake smiled and nodded as Tom shifted in his seat, as if one of those gold bars was already working its way out.

      And no legal troubles with this one, Dave said. It’s all a contractual relationship, consensual, et cetera. With termination up to full term now legal in California, we’re all set. I’ve already vetted it with the studio attorneys. We’re on solid ground.

      Tom continued to grin.

      Who’s Doctor Ian? Dave asked, turning to Jake.

      Oh, he’s an abortion doctor I hired. I wanted to get a head start on casting, because I know we’re in a crunch to hit the season premiere deadlines. He’s fantastic on camera. You’ll really like him.

      All right, said Tom, "get a casting call out. We don’t have time to scour the nation for the girl next door. So, we’ll just look next door. I’m sure L.A. has plenty of sexually active single girls who’ve been careless recently. Get on it. Oh, and one more thing – what are we slugging it?"

      Jake smiled and rubbed his strong chin. "The show is called CANCELED."

      CHAPTER 1

      FOUR WEEKS EARLIER

      Kaylie Adams had a hangover the size of . . . her misgivings about that guy – what was his name?

      Yeah, he was charming, and handsome, and had some kind of slick job in Burbank. And he knew how to make her feel very, very good. For most of the night.

      But now that was just a blur of music and candlelight and flesh and heat – and snoring.

      The snoring was gone now – along with old what’s-his-name.

      Kaylie slowly sat up in bed, her head banging like a drum. The sheets and covers were mostly on the floor, just one corner of the linens near the red painted toenails of her right foot clinging on to the mattress for dear life, ready at any moment to lose traction and join the rest of the pile on the hardwood floor.

      A stream of white light split the room through a gap in the blackout curtains, illuminating the normally invisible dust particles that gently tumbled in the stale air of the apartment.

      Kaylie glanced to the clock radio on the nightstand, but its thin blue numbers were too blurry for her to read without her lenses. She’d obviously lost both contacts in last night’s activities, so she fumbled for her rimless corrective glasses and slipped them on.

      Twelve-twenty nine.

      She flopped back on her pillow and let out a foul-tasting puff of air.

      This had to stop.

      She’d been living this life of mayhem and unaccountable pleasures for nearly six months now.

      Since a week or two after she’d kicked out her roommate Erin – for the same exact behavior.

      Now she had become Erin Two – the Sequel. Your standard Sunday night movie fare – good girl moves to the city to get discovered and become a film star. Good girl meets a girl who used to be just like her – only has been knocked around by the big city for a couple of years. The two become friends, the more seasoned girl gets out of control and gets kicked out, and before long, good girl is now the bad girl. Rinse and repeat.

      It’s a story that’s been rinsing and repeating though Hollywood’s streets for generations.

      But Kaylie felt she’d finally hit rock bottom. She was ready to break the chain of failure and fatigue, to make a fresh start.

      To stop living this way and get back to the reason she came here in the first place.

      And besides, she’d been raised better than this. If her parents could see her now, they’d be sick.

      Sick.

      There’s a thought.

      Kaylie leapt from the bed, nearly tripped over the sheets on the floor, and stumbled into the bathroom with just enough time to throw the toilet seat up before the muscles in her belly and throat seized up, ejecting a thick stream of yellow vomit into the water below.

      She coughed and sputtered, pulled some toilet paper off the roll to dab the drool off her mouth and chin, then heaved again.

      And again.

      Once more, but this one was dry. Just her stomach making sure it had expelled all its unwelcome contents.

      She coughed again, her throat stinging. She moaned to herself as she pushed her long brown hair back out of the toilet, and sat back on the little furry yellow rug from the squatting position she’d been in.

      And then she sobbed.

      Now she had hit rock bottom.

      ۞

      Kaylie surfed the forums looking for a casting call she could audition for this week. Orange rays of light cut through the cracks in the blinds as the sun dipped low in the sky, setting the room in a warm glow.

      As she sat at her tiny desk in the corner of her apartment browsing the newest listings, she felt a little queasy and lost focus as her mind wandered.

      She hadn’t been feeling right for the last three weeks, since the morning she’d hit the wall of personal despair and resolved to change.

      She wasn’t sure if she’d caught something, or if maybe it was psychosomatic – the physical ill-feeling that can accompany a mental and emotional burden.

      Either way, she was starting to wonder.

      But trying not to wonder too much.

      That is, she was over a week late, and kept pushing the thought away from her mind.

      She consciously avoided even thinking the word.

      Pregnant.

      No – no, no.

      That would not do at all.

      Not unless some soap opera was looking to cast a girl with a motherhood story arc.

      Which would mean her audition options would quickly begin to diminish.

      Okay – no more thinking about it. No use trying to plan and fret over something that wasn’t even happening.

      No use living out a feared future, instead of focusing on the real present.

      Feeling weary, she shut down the computer and decided to take a nap.

      ۞

      Twelve days late.

      This was getting ridiculous.

      Kaylie was tired of feeling like this – ready to cry at the drop of a hat – and tired of waiting for her period to start.

      This was turning into the worst case of PMS of her life.

      She was scanning the casting calls again, this time determined to make it to an audition this week, and get around to changing her life for the better.

      And then she saw it.

      She couldn’t quite believe it at first, and had to read through it slowly a second time, just to make sure she’d read it right.

      It seemed like a custom-made casting call – as if someone, somewhere was speaking directly to her – looking for Kaylie Adams.

      The ad read:

      THINK YOU’RE PREGNANT?

      DON’T KNOW YET?

      NOT SURE WHO THE FATHER WOULD BE?

      WE NEED YOU!

      Seeking single females, mid-to-late 20s,

      for FBC reality show airing this fall.

      Must be attractive.

      Must be unsure if pregnant,

      and willing to test on camera.

      Also must be undecided on life issues and

      unsure if she would keep an unwanted baby.

      A small stipend offered for undergoing test.

      Very significant prize money offered for the woman who gets the part and fulfills contract.

      Auditions TODAY only.

      Kaylie stared at the screen.

      How many girls could there be who fit her exact description?

      It was bizarre. Unreal.

      And she would surely be a shoo-in for this show. It was probably one of those shows where they stick a group of people in a room to debate a hot topic.

      Kaylie knew from her limited experience that very significant money was code for a huge chunk of cash in this industry.

      She was at once convinced and committed to trying out for this gig. She didn’t know what she was in for, but a job was a job, and giving it a shot would go a long way to getting her out of this funk.

      She had nothing to lose, and at least a small stipend to gain for taking the test.

      She jotted down the audition location, flipped her laptop closed, and got to work on looking her best.

      CHAPTER 2

      Wow.

      Jake Granville shook his head in amazement as he stared down at the crowd from the production booth. Below in the sound stage area, which consisted of a large riser in front of about five hundred theater seats, young hotties lined up to take their shot at being the next big reality TV star.

      More takers than you expected? asked Hal Urich, the casting director, who also gazed down at the throng, peering over the top of his glasses and scratching at his trim white goatee.

      Uh, yeah. I figured – for some crazy reason – that people had a little more shame. Sometimes I forget this is Hollywood.

      The line of attractive women wound its way off the stage and out the door, ending somewhere in the parking area. As girls got checked in and received their information sheets, they sat down in the theater seats, filling up the auditorium.

      Jake noticed that a handful of them were visibly pregnant – obviously too dumb to read the announcement properly, or figuring they could somehow game the system. A few others were plain, and some were just plain ugly – girls whose friends didn’t have the heart to be honest with them.

      This is my least favorite part of running realities, said Jake. Call me after you’ve got the short list.

      Hal gave a nod and a grin. I love my job. This is my favorite part – beautiful women everywhere I look, the chance to decide all of their fates. Gives me a rush, man. A quick and easy cut of the obvious pregos, the uglies, and the transsexuals, and then I get to ogle babes to my heart’s content.

      Jake shook his head and left the booth, headed for Dave Kohler’s office.

      He passed one of the young administrative assistants in the hall and gave her a smile and a nod, checking her out as she passed. Then he chastised himself.

      Did he really want to end up like Hal when he was fifty?

      Jake had already gained quite a reputation as a ladies’ man over the past couple years at FBC, but the truth was, he was growing tired of the lifestyle.

      Something strange about hitting the mid-thirties mark. He was starting to feel the yearnings for something deeper than one-night stands with nameless bimbos. It scared him a little to think that he was growing up enough to want to – he hated these two words – settle down.

      But he couldn’t deny it any longer, either. It was time to rein things in. If not for his emotional future, at least for his career. His big mistake was sleeping with Tom Highgate’s daughter, Tawny. Everyone knows you don’t sleep with the boss’s daughter. Certainly not the boss’s boss’s daughter. It could be career suicide.

      Jake was pretty sure Highgate was clueless about it, but you just never know.

      Of course, that brief relationship had to end when Tawny had spent one drunken evening spilling her guts about her daddy’s inclinations for little girls – namely herself. That was just too weird – and the girl clearly had issues as a result of her past experiences in that realm.

      Better for Jake to just cut and run.

      That was, after all, his specialty.

      He arrived at Dave’s office and gave a quick knock before letting himself in.

      Dave was on the phone.

      Yeah. Yes, I know. Mm-hm. And that’s why we’re starting shooting tomorrow. That’s right, just one day of auditions and we’ll pick our winner. No, no I hadn’t heard. How many? Wow. Well, Hal can handle it. We’ll have our gal by the end of the day. Okay, thanks Tom. Talk later.

      Dave hung up and swiveled his chair to Jake. S’up?

      About five hundred chicks who think they might be pregnant.

      "Well, if you hadn’t used your whole little black book for the casting call," Dave teased.

      Nice.

      We’ll get through them. And we’ll find our perfect little Pregnant Polly. This is gonna rock, buddy.

      I know it, said Jake. He strolled to the window and looked down at the parking lot, watching the rejects leave the sound stage one by one. I’ve met with Doctor Ian again, provided him some scripts and rundowns. I’d like you to meet him, too. You open for dinner?

      Lemme check. Dave scrolled through his iPhone calendar. I’m good all evening. Tony’s?

      Okay. I’ll pick you up at seven.

      ۞

      After Jake left Dave’s office, he headed out to the gym and worked out for about an hour. Then he went home and changed into something more appropriate for the evening – a dark brown silk suit, white dress shirt, no tie – and hopped into his AC Cobra, taking off with the low rumble of the huge V8 echoing through the parking garage of the upscale Galaxy Apartments complex in Brentwood.

      He swung back to Dave’s office, knowing he’d find the workaholic still at his desk, on the phone, lining up details for the big show’s debut.

      Dave gave him the index finger to indicate just a sec.

      Jake flopped down on the black leather sofa, knowing he’d be there for a while.

      After about ten minutes of scrolling through industry articles on his device, he looked at Dave and tapped at his platinum Longines watch.

      Okay, yes, thanks Justin. Yeah, we’ll talk in the ayem. I gotta go – yeah, an appointment. Sorry. Chat later. He hung up. Sorry, man.

      Don’t apologize to me – Doctor Ian’s the one sitting alone at Tony’s.

      The two headed out and managed to arrive at the restaurant ahead of schedule, thanks to Jake’s judicious use of third gear and a keen knowledge of L.A.’s traffic patterns.

      They were seated, and within minutes were joined by the doctor.

      Ian R. Chaitanyanam-Burke, M.D. (yes, there was a reason he went by Dr. Ian) was a thirty-two year-old New Delhi-born man educated in London. He was about five-nine, deep bronze-skinned, with short black hair and a trim goatee. He was slim in body with a round face set off by narrow-lens black-framed glasses. He wore green slacks and a light-blue shirt with subdued Hawaiian pattern.

      Hello Jake. And you must be David. Very pleased to meet you, yes. He extended his hand and smiled, revealing a set of bright white teeth with a small gap in the front.

      Before they could order food, Jake’s cell buzzed in his vest pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

      It’s Hal Urich. I gotta take this. He tapped the screen and said, Jake Granville.

      "Jake, I’ve found her."

      Already? I expected you to be there all night.

      "I did too. It wasn’t looking good. But then SHE appeared. She’s perfect. You’re gonna love her."

      Name, stats?

      "Kaylie Adams."

      Sounds familiar. Very all-American. I like it.

      "She’s twenty-five, single, five-eight, long brown hair, green-eyed, nice skin, actor wannabe with no credits, great personality, passed the background check – and she’s pretty sure she’s about five weeks along, but hasn’t tested yet."

      Perfect.

      "Of course, she may not be pregnant, so I’ve got a pool of twelve women. We’ll shoot all the candidates taking the test in green screen tonight. Will let you know results."

      Keep me posted.

      Jake hung up.

      Do we have our girl? asked Dave.

      It’s looking good. Just need to do the pregnancy test screen tests and we’ll know within an hour or so.

      Forgive me, said Dr. Ian, but it was my understanding that the show was going to include the pregnancy test experience in the pilot, yes? How will that work if it’s supposed to be ‘reality’ TV, yet the girl is taking the test at a TV studio?

      The magic of television, my friend, said Jake. Tonight, we shoot the girls testing on a green screen. Then we’ll send a crew to her home tomorrow at sunrise. We’ll get her waking up, throwing up, and starting to take the test. Then we’ll splice it with today’s test footage, placing her on location through digital manipulation. The rest of the season will be all natural, of course, but we’ll need to bend the truth a little to make the premiere work.

      Ah, I see. The magical deception of the digital age, yes. Fascinating, said Dr. Ian without looking up from his menu. I suppose one should never really trust what one sees on television, eh?

      Never, said Jake. Especially not when it’s labeled ‘reality.’

      CHAPTER 3

      Kaylie pondered this change in her life as she scrubbed down the cream-colored Formica counters in her dim little kitchen.

      She couldn’t believe it.

      She’d been gobsmacked by bad news and good news, all at once.

      The positive pregnancy test was a shocker – sort of. She’d been suspecting she was pregnant for long enough that the result wasn’t a total surprise, but the reality of a positive confirmation brought her to her knees (an on-camera reaction that the director, Justin Mitchell, absolutely loved).

      Then, just thirty minutes later when she was told she had the part – that she – Kaylie Adams from Medford, Oregon – had beat out all those hundreds of women and was going to be the star of a big network reality show – the amazing news mixed with the news of the pregnancy in another on-camera moment that overwhelmed her.

      She was going to have to get used to every aspect of her life being an on-camera moment.

      But finally, she was getting her break – and all she had needed to do was get off her butt and decide to make it happen.

      The casting director, Hal Something, seemed pretty nice – at least when he wasn’t checking out her body. But then, that was his job, right?

      He seemed really excited, and eager to get started right away. So, a production crew was coming first thing in the morning!

      She was just about done cleaning the apartment. She’d done the laundry and the dishes, vacuumed, dusted, and even swept and mopped the bathroom and the tiny kitchen. She pulled out a couple of old glamour shots and hung them on the living room wall – partly as self-promotion, partly to cover some water-damage stains. The pictures were great – her long brown hair teased to the extreme, her perfect pale skin, slender nose, big dark green eyes, and the ideal sultry look accentuated by her voluptuous lips.

      As she went back to the kitchen, the smell of the cleaning solution struck her with a sudden bout of nausea – so sudden that she didn’t quite make it to the bathroom and upchucked all over the hallway.

      Glamour, indeed.

      Hormones raging, she broke down and cried before mustering the motivation to clean up her mess.

      Once she was cleaned up, she considered the money she would be getting from this new job (a stipend in addition to the

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